Okay story time! I wrote this in 2001, I’d been writing stories for about a year. I am 26 years old in this story. I work for Frito-Lay and I live in the Once Upon A Time house in the middle of the desert. There is a lot of astrology in this story. There is a lot of everything in this story and I hope you like it.
Red Hand Truck
Really this is a story about my hand truck. My red hand truck. All hand trucks are not created equal, and if you work with one all day you become very attached to your machine. It’s an extension of yourself. Phallic? I suppose. In whatever case my hand truck was red, like my lipstick. I picked her out from a line up when I took my job.
I was cautioned I was making a bad pick. My hand truck was mighty heavy which is why it was available in the first place. The truth is if you are going to lift a hand truck on and off a truck all day, then you want one as lightweight as possible, but still up to the task. This is true unless you are me, in which case you want one that looks sporty.
My boss took me into a room full of misfit hand trucks. These were hand trucks no one else wanted for various reasons. This was what was available, what was leftover. Looking around he said “None of these are any good Elsa. One of them will have to do short term and I’ll order you a new one. It’ll take a week or so to get it to you,” he explained.
Potato chips don’t weigh much. There is such a thing as an aluminum hand truck that weighs just a few pounds with a lip that folds down. This allows you to carrying about 20 boxes of chips at a time and they are preferred by most chip people. They’re nice but not a panacea because they easily snap when you overload them with cases of canned Bean Dip.
“So don’t over load them with bean dip,” my boss said.
“Well, I have to overload them with bean dip because I don’t get paid by the hour, do I?”
He didn’t care if I had to make 10 trips when I could have made 5, but surprise, I did. So please. I will make this decision. I want the serious piece of equipment, and it is not a flimsy thing. I want real metal, not ridiculous metal, and I like RED.
I saw a hand truck in the pile that suited me and true to form, I had more than one reason.
This was in the era when everyone was crazy for aerobic classes and I used to brag that I didn’t have to go and I was right. No more Frito job and so guess who has to go the gym? If you sling a heavy hand truck around all day, you’ll look like a dish, it’s that simple.
I had another reason, I always do. I am just not single-reason type person and I am already on record to say I like hard labor. No joke.
This is thanks to the influence of my grandfather, Henry. Work is a spiritual pursuit to me, and beyond that, I just plain like to feel my muscles work so that was that. It was decided that there is no need for my boss to procure a new hand truck. I loaded the dense one on my truck and left the city for my job in the middle of nowhere.
Skip to Part 2 – Type A @ Circle K